Perhaps to coincide with the “Fire” part of this evening’s theme, the meal turned out to be an array of Indian food. As soon as we realized this, Morgana touched my wrist and asked, “Oh, Hector, are you going to be okay?” Spicy cuisine and I did not get along – whether we were talking about Indian, Mexican, Korean or whatever. As we approached the troughs of pork curry and lamb vindaloo, I couldn’t help but think of the dreadful gas that would plague me for hours to come. Indeed, one plate of that stuff and it would be like my innards were performing Ode to Joy as arranged for the tuba. Still, what could I do? I was starved. “I think I’ll be okay,” I said. Examining the various troughs, I tried to locate dishes that looked like they wouldn’t kill me. I took as small a sample of each as I
